Hetalia England oneshots

Four

It was impossible.

Francis prided himself as an artist, it was what he loved doing for a living. And no matter what challenge had faced him, he had always managed to create something that others looked at in awe. They thought he was amazing.

But this time was different.

Arthur was his inspiration this time. Not with permission, of course. Francis wanted a challenge, so he followed the nation around whenever he could. Sitting opposite him and letting the brush guide the way. It was going well, at first.

But the one thing he couldn't perfect were those eyes. Emerald green, so many shades blended together. No matter what he tried, they never looked right. Always too bright or too dark, never perfect.

He had perfected every other part of his painting. Arthur's scowl, his messy hair... He had considered everything. But as the eyes of the nation stared back at him, just a simple blank pencil drawing, no colour...

Had Francis been defeated?

He supposed so, sighing dramatically and staring at the painting. It looked so lively, but not at all Arthur without his eyes...

Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, staring at the painting as if it would give him the answer he craved. But there was only one way that he could finish this painting.

He needed to look closer.

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"Sit still, mon cher!"

"NO! I have no idea what you're trying to do, you bloody-"

Francis scowled, the Englishman mirroring one back as he made a point in moving around. Not trusting what Francis what trying to do. He hadn't been told, and he knew the stupid things Francis had coaxed him into doing before.

"I won't listen to you until you tell me what you're planning on doing, frog." He snapped, shuffling backwards when Francis moved closer.

"Ever heard of personal space?! Get off!" Arthur shrieked as the other nation kept moving closer until their foreheads were practically touching. Expecting to be kissed or something perverted, he shut his eyes...

But instead, Francis lifted a paintbrush up next to him. Looking from the green paint on it to Arthur's eyes, comparing them silently without a word.

"Hm. Mon lapin, stay still..." He finally mumbled, brush darting back to mix with other shades of green. Francis stuck the brush by Arthur's eyes again, frowning.

"I can't get it right!" He whined, furiously mixing colours together and comparing them. Continuously failing to even get close to whatever his goal was. Arthur had no idea what was going on.

"Francis. Now, please tell me what-"

"Shush. I am trying to work. Again, stay very, very still..."

And Francis put paint on his cheek. A streak of it, many greens mixed together in a deep forest colour. Instinctively, Arthur attempted to wipe it off, but felt a hand firmly grasp his.

"I have to do this. I have to finish this, Arthur. And I'm so close..." The frenchman whispered longingly, their eyes meeting. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

Of course, Arthur had no idea what he was talking about. Pointing a brush at his eyes and painting on him. Francis might have finally gone mad.

But he let him, trying to sit as still as he could as orange streaks from the setting sun fell onto their faces, as his head slowly dropped and fell limp, succumbing to sleep once more.

And the painting lay in the next room. A figure walked in slowly, paintbrush in hand.

The next day, the picture was finished. Arthur woke up to see it in a frame on the wall. And he foukd himself smiling.

"Of course that what you were so worried about after all this."

"I wanted it to he perfect." Francis replied, walking into the room and resting a hand on his companion's shoulder as the two gazed at the painting. "But then I realized that I could never make it as perfect as you are. I love you." He whispered, planting a small kiss on Arthur's forehead, before wandering off.

"Love you too."